


The Beginning is the End is the Beginning

by Lila82



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Wishful Thinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-05-28 08:03:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6321505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lila82/pseuds/Lila82
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alliance between the Skaikru and Azgeda must be sealed by a marriage.  Raven volunteers, expecting to be rejected, but the odds have never been in her favor.  Somehow it’s not the worst thing to ever happen to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here goes:
> 
> 1\. I apologize for going MIA the past few months. New job + lots of work travel + apartment hunting + life = very little time to write. But, the new chapter of “Hunger of the Pine” is half written and will be posted after this fic.
> 
> 2\. Which brings me to my second point: a week or so ago, I was doing research for HotP, and saw a reference to a Raven/Roan fic. Then another. And while I didn’t have time to read those stories, the idea lodged in my brain and wouldn’t let go. Whoever thought of this pairing? I bow down to you, lady. Well done. If only they’d interact n in canon.
> 
> 3\. This fic was written during repeated listenings of Fleetwood Mac’s “Tusk” and “The Chain.” Just in case you were wondering where my head was at. Lot of slow, slinky 70s tunes.
> 
> 4\. This season has been…kind of terrible. I’m only through episode seven, so this fic takes place in a vague future after Lexa’s death. 
> 
> 5\. I’ve been watching a lot of “Vikings” and reading Viking romance novels and those interests have manifested in a Norse-flavored Ice Nation. Cool, right?
> 
> Title courtesy of Smashing Pumpkins. Enjoy.

 

* * *

 

They put her in a line with the other girls, standing shoulder to shoulder while they await their fate.

There are twelve of them, each wearing a smile braver than the next, clad in their cleanest if not best clothes. After all, most of them have only one set. But Raven’s hair is brushed and neatly pulled back from her face, and she’s gotten most of the wrinkles out of her shirt. There’s little she can do about the brace, but it’s a part of her, like her brown eyes and long dark hair. It sucks, but she’s dealing. It’s what she tells herself, because really, there is no other choice.

They all have scars but she’s one of the few that can’t hide hers. It lives on her in worn leather and tarnished metal. It’s what she is now – _who she is_ – and if she’s going to sell her soul to the enemy, he’ll take her as she is.

It’s a necessary step in finalizing the peace treaty, a marriage between the two clans, but there are many that wanted something different. Abby in particular is upset by this plan, likely because she thinks Clarke will be chosen. Raven thinks so too, but she needs to try. ALIE tried to end the world and she helped her. Securing a lasting peace for her people is the least she can do. 

She doesn't expect much. She stands with Clarke to her left and Harper to her right, caught between two able-bodied girls whose names mean something. Warriors, fighters, _saviors_. Raven knows she wouldn’t be standing in the weak winter sunshine if not for these girls and the sacrifices they made. She bites her lip to hide her grimace, to mask the disgust she feels for herself. After Finn, she swore she’d never fall for pretty words and empty promises. She blinks to keep the tears from falling. She failed, failed over and over again. ALIE is gone but Raven knows she’ll never forget the things she would have done. 

A hush falls over the yard and then he’s there, two older men trailing behind. Raven guesses them to be advisors from the way they study the assembled women and mutter to themselves. 

She’s heard stories of the Ice King, but she isn’t prepared for what she sees in person. He’s tall and well-muscled, but so are most grounder men. It’s the look in his pale blue eyes that unnerves her. Like he can see right through her. Like he can see _inside her_.

She holds her head high as he inspects the line of potential brides, those sharp eyes lingering over each face. One of the advisors strokes Bree’s hair and the other forces open Harper’s mouth to look at her teeth. She hisses at him and he says something too low for Raven to hear. Both men give Clarke a wide berth, but there’s no mistaking the reverence in their voices as they spot Wanheda. Clarke’s already fair skin pales a shade lighter. There’s power in names and Clarke will carry hers for the rest of her life.

“This one.” 

Raven doesn’t react, assumes the king is talking about pretty Mel a few paces down, but then she feels the heat of many sets of eyes – they’re staring at her.

The taller of the advisors unleashes a string of rapid Trigedasleng and the other shakes his head furiously, his gaze dropping to Raven’s bum leg. She gets the message loud and clear, fights to keep her cheeks from burning, her eyes from tearing. She won’t be ashamed of what she is. She won’t let this stupid, strange man make her feel _small_.

“Enough.” Roan’s voice is like gravel under the wheels of the rover, rough but strangely musical. “I want her,” he says and the bottom drops out of her world.

“What?” Her voice is high-pitched and slightly strangled, but she doesn’t think anyone would judge her reaction. Raven Reyes was the last Skaikru plana anyone thought the Ice King would pick.

“You are called Raven, yes?” She nods an affirmation and he smiles, all teeth and cunning. “Then you are the one I want.”

She opens her mouth to give him a piece of her mind, to tell him that she isn’t a thing to be bought or traded, but then, without warning, he sinks to his knees at her feet. She assumes he’ll want her to kneel beside him in some weird Azgedan ritual. She resists the urge to kick him. He’s seen her leg, knows she can’t. It takes a special kind of asshole to openly mock a disabled person.

Except he doesn’t gesture for her to join him, but takes her hand instead. The laughter disappears from his eyes and his color is high. He looks a little nervous. Raven stares at him, trying to figure out what inspired the change in behavior. Both their peoples need this marriage. He knows she won’t turn him down. 

“Raven kom Skaikru,” he says in that low rumble. “Will you marry me?”

She’s dimly aware of the sounds surrounding her, the gasps and sighs and Abby’s cry of protest, but it’s hard to hear them over the roaring in her ears.

 _Marriage_. She understood the implications when she volunteered, but she never thought she’d be chosen. None of them had. But here they are and she’s the one Roan wants. If she says yes, she’ll marry this man – she’ll marry the _enemy_. There’s still time to back out. She can walk away and let another girl bear this burden. They all have so much to carry. No one will blame the disabled girl for refusing to take on more.

A challenge glints in Roan’s eyes, daring her to turn him down, and Raven’s reminded of something she said to Clarke at the dropship, when she thought she’d die in a rusty tin can with Murphy’s bullet in her spine. It doesn’t matter how she ended up here – someone is picking her first. She can’t say no to that.

“I – ” It’s harder to say the words than she’d thought.

A hush falls over the crowd and Roan calmly rises to his feet, presses a kiss to the back of her hand. There’s dirt under her nails and oil on her wrist, but she isn’t ashamed. This is who she is and he can take it or leave it. If he notices, he doesn’t comment, but his lips linger a moment longer than necessary. She again resists the urge to kick him.

He keeps holding her hand while he waits for her response, a challenge lurking in his icy eyes.

She doesn’t blink when she gives him her answer. “I accept.”

 

* * *

 

“You don’t have to do this.” Abby wrings Raven’s spare shirt in her hands as she watches her pack her meager possessions: Finn’s necklace, a diagram of the brace Wick built for her, the cork from the first bottle of wine she shared with Gina. There’s a bracelet too that Octavia helped her make from the sad remnants of her battered red jacket, bits of her old life woven into a thin band she wears on her left wrist. She takes in Abby’s distressed expression, Clarke hovering behind her mother and refusing to meet Raven’s eyes. Sometimes it feels like that bracelet is all she has of the girl she used to be.

“You don’t have to do this,” Abby says again, more emphatically this time, and Raven manages a small smile for the closest thing she has to a mother. 

“Yes, I do. I got into that line knowing what it meant.” She pauses, remembering the destruction she tried to bring upon her already broken people. “He chose me.” She grips a nearby chair for support, her bad leg suddenly unable to bear any weight. It’s pressing in on her, the force of the choice she freely made.

“He’s a good man,” Clarke says suddenly. She still won’t look at Raven, but her voice is firm. She’s telling the truth to her estranged friend. “The things he does, they’re to protect his people.” She glances at Raven, a quick flick of her eyes that lasts half a second. “He’ll treat you well.”

Abby has mercy on Raven’s shirt and grasps her friend’s hands. “You always have a place here.” Raven recognizes the look in her eyes. It’s the same one she wore three months back when she sent Bellamy to bring her daughter home. It says that she’ll fight for Raven the way she fought for Clarke, consequences be damned. It’s almost enough for Raven to stay. 

Almost but not enough and Raven lets go of Abby’s hands. “Thank you for everything.” When Abby hugs her goodbye, she keeps her eyes closed so the tears won’t fall. She didn’t think it would be this hard, saying farewell. It was hard when her mama died but the hurt quickly faded and it’s rarely more than a dull ache. Leaving Arkadia feels like a wound that will never fully heal.

It only gets harder when she says goodbye to Monty and Bellamy and Harper and Jasper and all the people she didn’t realize were her family. It’s hardest of all to say goodbye to Clarke. 

“You say the word and I’ll get you out of there.” She finally raises her head to meet Raven’s eyes. Hers are bloodshot and anguished but Raven sees a hint of the girl she met in the rain. She believes her. The Clarke she remembers always kept her promises.

“Appreciate it.” 

Clarke wraps her in a fierce hug. “I’m sorry it had to be you.”

Raven almost laughs. Bit by bit her friend is coming back to the girl she was – she wouldn’t be Clarke if she didn’t make Raven’s sacrifice all about herself. 

“I got this,” Raven says, channeling Bellamy during every inspirational speech he’s ever given. Clarke looks doubtful, likely remembering how terribly most of Bellamy’s plans turned out, but lets Raven go.

She treks towards her future husband with as much dignity as she can muster. It rained the day before and the yard is sticky with mud that clings to her boots and threatens what little relief her brace provides. Roan watches her progress, his expression blank. If he’s ashamed of his broken bride, he isn’t letting it show.

“Are you ready?” His tone is flat, devoid of emotion, like he’s asking her thoughts on the weather rather than if she’s ready to leave her people behind.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He chuckles and rests his hands on her hips. She’s a small woman – those lean years of her early childhood kept her from gaining weight – but until this moment, she didn’t realize how much larger Roan is. His hands span her entire waist and his long, tapered fingers dig into the divots of her hips in a way that makes her want to squirm. She bites her lip to keep from moving, raises her eyebrows to question why he’s touching her. 

“We ride to Azgeda.”

She starts to explain that she can’t ride, not really, but those big hands tighten around her waist and deposit her on his horse. He swings up behind her before she can react and shifts until she’s firmly in his lap, her back pressed to his chest while her legs dangle uselessly over the horse’s right flank. He twines their fingers together and raises their joined hands over their heads.

“To peace.”

“To peace,” the Skaikru roar and he nods, lets go of Raven’s hand so he can take the reins. 

She looks forward as he steers the horse through the gate. She made her choice and there’s no going back.

 

* * *

 

It’s a five day ride to Azgeda lands over rough terrain, and for the first time in many weeks, Raven is grateful to ALIE. Not the trying to end the world thing, but for taking away her pain. Her leg is still relatively useless, but it doesn’t hurt anymore. She doesn’t wake up each morning gasping for breath, blinking away nightmares that are mostly real, just drags about her lame leg as a constant reminder of the choices she made. 

She thinks about it with each bump and jostle of the horse’s plodding progress, how much worse this journey could have been. It doesn’t feel right but she can’t remember the last time anything did. She settles back against Roan’s broad chest and watches the scenery pass.

It’s a good distraction, the trees and sky and even a family of deer drinking from a small stream, all these new things that will make up her life. They help her forget about the people she left behind.

Roan shifts beneath her. He hasn’t complained but she knows it can’t be comfortable, riding all day with one hundred plus pounds of deadweight in his lap. She could make it easier for him, sit up straighter or move her body to the even clip of the horse’s hooves, but she doesn’t. He knew what he was getting into when he chose her. She’ll let him experience it in full.

He’s quiet, even when the day grows long and he stops to make camp for the night. He helps her down from the horse and sets her on a blanket with the advisors for company, slings a bow over his back and disappears into the forest. The advisors glower at her and she glares right back. She’s about to be a king’s wife – they can treat her with the respect that she deserves. 

It’s then that she realizes the full impact of the choice she made. She’s gaining more than a husband – she’s gaining a kingdom. She’ll be a _queen_. She doesn’t know what to make of it or if she really wants it, but there’s no walking away from it. 

Roan reappears with a pair of dead rabbits on his belt. “Dinner,” he explains, like it’s not the most obvious thing in the world. 

“No shit,” she scoffs and his mouth quirks with the slightest hint of amusement. She scowls in return. She isn’t here to be his entertainment.

Still, she watches, fascinated, as he quickly divests the rabbits of their fur. A low hum of panic settles in her chest. She knows nothing of making it on her own. At the dropship, she was always locked away in the radio room, testing bullets or making bombs. She never gave much thought to what the meat group was doing. But now she’s on her own and all her Zero-G Mech training won’t keep her alive. If something goes wrong, if she has to run…she needs to know these things.

She takes a breath for courage, already hates herself for asking Roan for anything. “Show me.” 

He glances up, a lock of brown hair falling around his face. His hands are coated in blood and guts but she doesn’t offer to tuck it behind his ear. He created this problem. It’s not up to her to solve it. He swings his head slightly but the piece of hair stays glued to his cheek. Raven takes a perverse satisfaction in watching him suffer. This is the man whose people killed her friends. She might marry him but she doesn’t have to like him.

“Show you what?” He gives up on the wayward hair and turns back to his work.

“How to butcher meat. I don’t know how and I want to.”

His hands never stop moving and she keeps her gaze focused on that errant lock of hair rather than the motions of those long, tapered fingers. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

He doesn’t look at her leg, but she knows his true meaning all the same, and she sees red, a thin film of it clouding her vision as the anger curls into a knot in her chest. She doesn’t have a weapon but his arrows are within arms reach. She grabs one before he can react, holds it very near where the jugular pulses in his throat. 

“Don’t tell me what I can’t do.”

He calmly puts down the knife and meets her gaze. It’s too dark to see his eyes clearly but she doesn’t think she’d find amusement lurking there. From the set of his jaw, she thinks he’d look impressed. 

“I only meant that you are about to be queen.” He cocks his head towards the advisors talking quietly across the fire. “You will never have to cook for yourself again.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t expecting that response and she feels a little guilty for threatening him, but not enough to keep from saving face. She puts down the arrow. “Well, I still want to learn.”

He meets her gaze evenly, his expression surprisingly neutral for a man that just had an arrow to his throat. “Tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow.”

The rest of the meal prep is spent in silence, although Raven never stops watching her future husband, not when he puts the rabbits on a spit over the fire and especially not when he confers with his advisors. They gesture furiously in her direction but they’re talking Trigedasleng and she can’t understand them. Not that she needs a translation. They’re annoyed that their king’s future wife started their engagement with an assassination attempt.

Dinner is roasted rabbit and wilted greens and Raven won’t admit it, but it’s the best thing she’s eaten on the ground. The meat is perfectly cooked and there’s some kind of spice to cut the bitterness of the greens. She’s seen restaurants in old movies they’d watch on the Ark – she imagines this is what it would be like to eat in one. 

“I wanted your brain.” 

Raven stops chewing and stares, acutely aware that her mouth is hanging open. She knows the Azgeda are brutal and ruthless but cannibalism seems like a bridge too far. 

Roan watches her from a reclining position and there’s no mistaking the amusement in his eyes. Her surprise shifts into a scowl and he laughs, his gaze shifting to her leg. “I don’t care that about that.” He leans in and taps her forehead. “What’s in here, it’s why I chose you.” 

He’s looking at her in that way again, like he can see inside her, and she turns away before he sees too much. She puts her armor back on. “Then you chose wrong. I’m not helping you.”

“We’re at peace,” he reminds her. “The Nightbloods are gone and the coalition is broken. Trikru outnumber Skaikru ten to one. You’ll need Azgeda’s help.”

He’s right of course. Even before she died, the Trikru were furious, disgusted with Lexa for putting her lover’s people before her own. The fighting after her death was angry and bloody and when it finally ended, no Nightbloods were left standing. Aden had lasted three days before his head was sliced cleanly from his neck. ALIE had only made things worse, shattering the Trikru’s belief in everything they’d ever known. They’d fought amongst themselves but the one thing they could agree on was the cause of their suffering – nothing had been the same since Wanheda and her people fell from the sky. 

“You could have chosen any of the girls in that line and secured the same deal. You don’t need me.”

“Yes, I do.” His voice is soft, but firm, his expression serious. “My people take great pride in surviving at all costs, but survival shouldn’t come at such a high price.” He meets her eyes, his glittering like ice in the firelight. “We need to do more than just survive. It won’t be possible without you.”

It’s an early fall evening with a cool breeze but the air stills between them, the clearing silent except for the crackle of the fire. Even the advisors have stopped their chattering. 

She swallows hard, locks her jaw to keep from breaking his gaze. “I’m no savior.” She tried that once and brought the world to its knees. She won’t go back there.

“No,” he says. “You’ll be more.”

Raven looks at him skeptically and he smiles in a way that should be mocking but feels more like he’s sharing the most intimate of secrets. “Yu laik haiplana. _Queen_.”

She thought it earlier today, but the word sounds different coming from him, the way he twists it on his tongue, like music riding the wind.

Queen Raven – it has a nice ring to it.

 

* * *

 

She’s the first to wake the next morning.

It’s barely dawn, the sky painted milky shades of purple and blue, but she’s awake, no thanks to something hard and long pressed firmly into her backside. They’re tangled together in something called a _hudfat_. According to Roan, Norse warriors would bring them on long sea voyages and sleep in pairs to conserve body heat. 

“You may choose another partner,” he’d said, head cocked at the still unnamed, glowering advisors. 

“No thanks.” 

There’d been an awkward pause where she wasn’t sure what to do next – strip down in front of everyone? struggle out of her clothes inside a boiled leather bag? – but Roan had sensed the change in mood and left her alone while he talked with his advisors. She’d watched as he’d rested one large hand on each man’s shoulders, steered them towards the fire so she could have some privacy.

She’d been grateful, even if she’d never admit it. She wouldn’t have minded those grumpy old men getting a peek at her boobs, but seeing her take off the brace would have been another reminder of all the reasons they’d thought Roan chose wrong. When he’d joined her in the sleeping bag, her boots were neatly lined up on her side, her brace tucked away inside the left one. 

She wakes because the temperature is rising with the approaching dawn and Roan’s heat that she’d welcomed the night before is almost too much. Sweat beads on her temples and her shirt clings to her back. And then there’s the issue of what’s happening below the waist. She knows it’s a nothing more than a physiological response but it does something to her. It’s been a long time since a man has shown any interest in her, not since she kicked Wick out of her life and fell under ALIE’s spell. She shifts restlessly, feels him twitch against her. It’s all the reminder she needs of what she’s doing here, why their peoples needed an alliance, and without a care for his sleep, she climbs out of the bag and reaches for her boots. 

He doesn’t mention it when he helps her on the horse after breakfast, but she’s aware of every place their bodies touch: the wide expanse of his chest, the hard flanks of his thighs, the corded muscles in his forearms as he holds her close while the horse fords a stream. Her cheeks feel hot and she can’t sit still, not when she knows what’s hiding under those fitted pants.

“That’s pussy willow.” His voice rumbles in her ear and she glances up sharply, almost knocking his chin with the crown of her head. He has that way of looking through her, but he can’t read her mind, right?”

“What?” She can’t believe such a lame response came out of her mouth, but there was her train of thought and that word and really, she can’t blame herself for that reaction. She just wishes he wasn’t there to witness it.

He points towards a cluster of fluffy white plants growing on the side of the path. “Pussy willow. Good for pain management.” 

“And your point is?” She tries, and mostly succeeds, at keeping her voice from squeaking.

“You wanted to learn. I’m doing my part.” He points to another plant. “That’s common yarrow. It cures nearly everything. To survive out here, you need to live off the land.”

Raven stares out at the pretty white flowers, memorizes the shape of their petals and the bright green of their stems. She feels that flash of guilt again. She only asked him to teach her how to skin a rabbit, and he’s giving her more. He’s giving her what she needs to be free of him and she’s done nothing but lash out. She doesn’t have to like him, but she can get along with him. She can make the best of this situation.

Before she loses her nerve, she lays a hand over his. His fingers jerk slightly and tighten around the reins. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

She settles back against his chest and listens to the even cadence of his voice, fills her brain with so much knowledge that it feels ready to burst. It’s not a bad way to spend an afternoon.

 

* * *

 

Their days take on a familiar routine. They ride together and Raven mentally catalogues local plants and their uses while Roan talks in low, even tones. At dusk he shows her how to separate an animal’s fur from its flesh and butcher the meat into edible pieces. She goes with him on his hunting expeditions, longingly watching him work the bow. In her old life, she could have stood at his side and let her own arrows fly, but she can’t manage the footwork with her bad leg. She watches and she learns and she files the new skills away into the vast recesses of her mind. 

Each morning, she wakes tangled in Roan. Each morning greets her the same way, hot and hard and aching. Each morning, she spends a little longer in his arms before facing the day.

 

* * *

 

Azgeda isn’t what she expected. 

Raven doesn’t know what she expected but not this place. Like most Trikru villages, the buildings are made of wood but they’re laid out in orderly rows. There are stone chimneys and neatly maintained gardens and the square is filled with a vibrant market. If not for the inhabitants, it would appear like a village from the fairytale book they read on the Ark. For a time, she’d wanted to live in one of those stories. It had been appealing, letting someone rescue her rather than always having to save herself. She takes in the fierce, aloof faces. If she wants a happy ending here, she’ll have to fight for it. 

She hadn’t given much thought to the long, thin scars that frame Roan’s face, but she sees them everywhere in the crowd. They fan across cheekbones and creep across foreheads. For one girl in particular, a tall girl with long dark hair, they only enhance her beauty. The girl’s lip curls as her king and his bride ride through the gates, and Raven doesn’t like the look she shares with the still nameless advisors. It’s been annoying enough ignoring their glares on the ride north. She doesn’t need them openly plotting against her now.

The horse comes to a stop and panic fills Raven’s chest. She knows what comes next. It will be like the day Abby had to help her off Helios. Her cheeks burn. It’s her first interaction with these people – her weakness can’t be on display.

But Roan doesn’t dismount. He lets go of the reins and laces his fingers with hers, raises their joined hands like the morning they left Arkadia.

“Ai houmon,” he roars and cheers erupt. Raven has a limited knowledge of Trigedasleng, but she understands those two words. _My wife_. On the road, it was easy to forget the true reason for this journey, but here, surrounded by strange people with strange ways, it’s impossible to avoid what’s to come. Marriage is more than words. Marriage means spending her life – _sharing_ her life – with another person. She clings to Roan as he steers the horse out of the yard, feeling dizzy and overwhelmed and like it’s hard to breathe.

“Are you alright?” He watches her closely as helps her off the horse. They’re in a private stable and free from prying eyes, but she still puts distance between them. 

“My ass is numb. How do you think I feel?”

Roan’s mouth quirks with amusement. “I can help with that.”

Involuntarily, her gaze drops to those to the big hands hanging at his sides. She’s sure they could do a lot of things to ease the tension in her limbs.

His slight smile curves into a full-blown smirk. He’s seen the path her eyes took. “I meant steam heat. I’ll have a hangada draw you a bath.” She raises her eyebrows. “A handmaiden.”

She’d laugh if she didn’t think it would amuse him. _Raven Reyes_ , scrappy, underfed orphan, has servants. Even in her most ridiculous fantasies, she never saw her life taking this course. 

“Come,” he says, long fingers curling around her elbow. “I’ll show you inside.”

She twists out of his grip. “I can walk on my own.”

His voice is vaguely menacing as he takes her arm again. “There are eyes everywhere here. You’d do well to play the blushing bride.”

She flushes again, guilt making her face hot. He’s trying to help and she keeps fighting back. It’s better to meet halfway. “I’ll play the bride but don’t expect me to blush.”

He looks at her, eyes lingering over the faint hint of pink staining her cheeks. She stares back, dares him to make a comment. He chuckles to himself and tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow, trapping her fingers between thick, hard muscles. She follows his lead, lets him guide her into her new life.

 

* * *

 

Siggy has a propensity for inane giggling by she’s otherwise kind and well-meaning and eager to please. 

Raven meets her in the foyer of the Ice Palace, a sprawling mansion laid out in brick and marble. She studies her reflection in the floor, horrified by the tangled hair and dirt smudged cheeks. Hygiene is difficult enough without running water and she all but gave up that week on the road. It’s not the impression she wanted to make.

Yet Siggy is gracious, especially when she takes Raven’s dirty hands in her own. “You poor thing,” she fusses, clucking her tongue at Raven’s rumpled appearance. “I’ll make it better.” Raven doesn’t think this silly girl will resolve anything of importance, but she’s too tired to argue. Her bedroom is on the second floor and she’ll need all the energy she possesses to make it there without collapsing. 

She’s doing the math in her head – how many stairs to the top, when she can take a break without appearing too obvious – when Roan sweeps her into his arms, one arm crooked under her knees while the other cradles her back. He’s a big man and he holds her carefully, not like she’ll break but like she’s something that matters. It’s not a feeling she knows well. 

“What are you doing?” she hisses. Lashing out, that she does well. 

“Relax,” he whispers in her ear, his breath blowing warm over her cheeks. “I’m just a groom carrying his bride over the threshold.”

She rolls her eyes. “That tradition died when the world did.”

Roan looks down at her, an unreadable expression in his eyes. “Not everything from the past needs to be forgotten. The future we’re building…history can’t keep repeating itself.” 

His jaw tightens and something flickers in his eyes, hope and need and maybe a bit of desperation. It takes her by surprise, the vulnerability there. Clarke had said he was a good man but Raven hadn’t understood then. She thinks she does now. She agreed to this marriage to save her people, but Roan did the same. Whatever his hopes, his dreams, he’s pinning them all on her. She’s not the only one making a sacrifice. It’s time she acted like it.

She waits until they’re at her door, waits until the very last second, but she gets the words out. That alone feels like an accomplishment. “I’m sorry,” she says softly, eyes on the polished wood floor. Finn is dead and she’s left Arkadia behind, but she thinks they can build something here. Maybe not love, but something better. Something _lasting_. 

It takes all her courage but she meets his eyes, doesn’t flinch at the kinship she finds there. She’s spent enough of her life hiding. “We’re in this together. I’m in this with you.”

He watches her for a long moment with those eyes like ice, but they soften, almost imperceptibly, but Raven sees it all the same, right before he ducks his head and kisses her. It’s a chaste kiss, just the brush of his mouth over hers, but she feels a little breathless when he pulls away. It’s been a long time since she was kissed this way, like she’s the only person he wants to be kissing.

“I’ll see you at downstairs.” 

She nods a goodbye, watches his broad back disappear down the stairs. It’s not the future she wanted but it could be worse. At least she’s no longer alone.

 

* * *

 

The servants take some getting used to. 

Raven tries to get into the bath herself but Siggy insists on helping. Her cheeks burn as her handmaiden unbuckles the brace and she waits for a snide remark. The advisors made no secret of their feelings about her limitations. She doesn’t expect Siggy to be different. But her maid surprises her when, without comment, she hands off the brace to another girl for cleaning. 

“We want our queen looking her best at her wedding,” she says with a conspiratorial wink. Raven nods weakly and sinks into the bath.

It’s a large tub heated by smooth stones that take turns over the fire. Lavender fronds float on the surface and their light scent fills the air. Raven rests her head against a folded towel and lets the water soothe her aching muscles. Siggy and the other women wash her hair and scrub her skin and she feels boneless when they help her from the tub. She’s so relaxed, she doesn’t mind leaning on Siggy when they return to the bedroom so she can dress for her wedding.

Her _wedding_.

She breaks out in goosebumps and not just from cool air on wet skin. In a few minutes, she’ll be married to Roan. She’s committed to her choice, but still – it’s hard to believe her life will no longer be her own. She can barely breathe while the women brush her hair and rub lotion into her skin.

They dress her in a flowing dress of red and gold that slides sinuously against her skin. “Every Azplana has worn this gown,” Siggy explains as she weaves jewels into Raven’s hair and places a slender gold circlet on her head. She adjusts the thin straps of Raven’s gown and her hands still on her shoulders. “You look beautiful, ai haiplana.”

Raven studies her reflection in the mirror. She does look beautiful, but it’s more than that. The woman staring back at her, she isn’t that sad girl from Mecha Station. She’s elegant and mysterious and regal – a queen. It’s more than the clothes and the jewels. It’s how she’s holding her head, so straight and proud, and the confidence in her eyes. It’s been a long time since she’s seen that girl. It feels good to have her back.

 

* * *

 

For all the drama surrounding her engagement, the wedding is a simple affair. 

Roan wears similar shades of gold and red, an intricate crown of barbed thorns resting on his brow. At his signal, she takes a breath and starts the long walk to her new life. The dress hides her brace and she takes careful steps as she makes her way down the aisle. Roan’s eyes never leave her face.

He bows low and takes her hand. She feels his pulse jump in his thumb.

There’s no priest waiting at the altar, just an unlit candle and two lengths of cloth. 

Roan squeezes her hand. “It’s time.”

Raven nods, unsure of her voice. She’s committed to this, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t scared. He wants her now but he could change his mind. It’s happened before. There’s no reason it won’t happen again. She thinks it won’t, if the look in his eyes is anything to go by. She sees respect there, awe too. He isn’t regretting the choice he made.

“I’m ready.”

Following his lead, she wraps the lengths of red and gold silk around her wrist, twines them through her fingers so their hands come together in a loose knot. 

Roan explains. “We bind our marriage with colors sacred to the Azgeda. Repeat after me. Gold laik son en red laik sonraun. Gon yu, ai swega klin ai keryon.” _The gold of the sun and the red of life. To you, I pledge my soul._

Softly, she repeats after him, careful not to trip over the Trigedasleng. Once, it was the language of the enemy and now it’s how she seals her fate. The enormity of it lodges heavy and stifling in her chest. She was wrong. She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t being doing this, not at all and especially not with Roan – with the _enemy_.

She takes a step back, ready to run, but a flash of blonde hair at the front of the crowd catches her eye. A Trikru saying floats through her mind, whispered words from Clarke one night by the fire. “Stedaunon don gon we en kikon ste enti.” _The dead are gone and the living are hungry_.

She can’t bring back those she lost but she can help those she has left. She says a silent prayer to Gina, to Finn, to everyone she ever let down. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I have to do better.” 

Roan looks at her curiously, especially when she smiles at him. Tentatively, he smiles back, gestures at the candle with his free hand. Together, they light the flame and a cheer erupts from the crowd.

The weight lifts from Raven’s chest. She glances at their bound hands, red and gold and skin on skin. It’s the promise of a future. It’s how she rights her wrongs.


	2. Chapter 2

 

* * *

 

The morning after her wedding, Raven wakes alone in the bed she shares with Roan.

He was there – she can see the indent in his pillow – and she remembers him carrying her up the stairs after their wedding feast and removing the high-heeled shoes that had been driving her crazy all night. The shoes had been as delicate as the dress, swathed in silk and speckled with tiny red stones that had matched the jewels in her hair. She’d appreciated the added height, but a thin heel had only compounded her balance issues. During their one and only dance, Roan had held her to his chest while they swayed together to a slow, slinky beat. She knows it was for her benefit, because she couldn’t have managed more complicated steps with her bad leg, but it had still felt like something, with him hard and muscled and pressed up against her while he gripped her hips with those big hands. Even hours later, she can feel his heat burning through the layers of soft wool that make up her bed.

She tries not to take Roan’s absence personally. He’s a king with responsibilities and he’s been away from his people for nearly a month. Their marriage is mutually beneficial; he’s under no obligation to wake up beside her each morning. Still, he could have waited a single day before going back to his old life.

Without warning, the sheet is pulled back, filling the room with bright sunshine and a blast of cold air. Goosebumps break out up and down Raven’s arms and she glares at Siggy. “Not yet.”

“The king is waiting for you.” 

Raven makes no effort to move and stares up at the wood beamed ceiling. A wave of heated anger displaces the earlier chill. Roan left her alone in this strange room with his strange people. He can wait until she’s good and ready. 

She glances around the room, eyes locking on the wooden bath tub. She supposedly spent the previous evening getting down and dirty with her new husband. In theory, she could use a good soak to scrub away any evidence.

“I want a bath.” 

Siggy sighs but calls for more hangadas, two young girls that carefully bring up buckets of water to fill the tub. Raven lounges in bed while they work, burrowing under the blankets and trying to catch a few more minutes of sleep. It’s hard to concentrate though, with the steady splash of water being poured and the stones hissing as they heat over the fire. The girls say nothing but it’s impossible to ignore the evidence of their labor. 

Raven can’t quite shake the guilt as she makes her way to the tub, gritting her teeth in concentration. The girls offer to help but she shrugs them off. They just spent an hour dragging buckets of water up the stairs for a bath she doesn’t really need. The least she can do is get into it on her own.

The water is accented by pine needles and assorted pink and yellow flowers that carry a fresh, clean smell that makes her think of the woods, an early morning with a thin layer of dew on the leaves and misty air rising from the forest floor. Those days were rare but Raven remembers all the same, her first breath of real air and rain on her face and the feeling like anything was possible. She closes her eyes and refuses to think about it further. She already knows her life has taken a different course than she originally intended. She doesn’t need flowers to remind her. 

As with the previous night, the women wash her hair and scrub her body and occasionally add more hot stones to the tub. When they’re done, they help her stand and wrap her in a thick robe to protect from the morning chill. The robe is even softer than the blankets and Raven resists the urge to purr. This isn’t a pleasure trip, she reminds herself. It’s a sacrifice for the betterment of her people. Still, she doesn’t shrug off the robe. She’s in a strange place and married to a man that couldn’t be bothered to wake up the day after his wedding and greet his bride. She’ll enjoy the small luxuries while she can. 

It gets harder to focus when Siggy begins brushing her hair and rubbing a thick lotion into her skin, and so she’s vaguely aware of the hangadas emptying the tub. 

Raven remembers how daunting those stairs seemed the day before. The hangadas might be able-bodied, but the buckets look heavy and there are so many of them. 

“Where is the water from?” Her tone is sharper than intended, but Raven doesn’t apologize. She’s the queen – she’s allowed to bark orders.

The younger of the two girls, Inge, flinches like she’s afraid of being struck. Raven assumes it’s how she got stuck on maid-duty – she can’t imagine there are other options for a timid girl in this nation of hard, fierce people. She knows something of being different, of struggling to find a place amongst people that should have felt familiar yet always seemed miles away. She regrets snapping at the girls, gives them a small smile in apology. “Did you bring the water in yourself?”

Dagny, the other hangada, nudges Inge, and the girl raises her head to bravely meet her queen’s gaze. “Yes, haiplana.”

“From where?” Raven directs this question to Dagny. 

“There is a well, haiplana. By the stable.” 

Raven frowns. The stable is at least a hundred yards from the house. 

“Girls,” Siggy admonishes. “Do not bother haiplana with your problems.” 

Dagny and Inge turn red. “Yes, haihangada.”

“Ignore them,” Siggy says and ties off Raven’s braid. “They are here to serve you. They draw baths at your pleasure.”

It’s appealing, having servants to see to her every need, but it’s quickly losing its novelty. Raven might not need to hunt for her dinner or prepare her own baths, but she _can_ do those things. And more important, she _should_ do them. She knows firsthand what it’s like to grow up at the bottom of the social ladder. Dagny and Inge’s lives shouldn’t be decided by the circumstances of their births. 

Siggy holds out a pile of clothes, and not the shirt and pants Raven’s been wearing since she came down from the Ark. There’s a soft wool tunic and leather leggings. Clean underwear and a tank top with a shelf bra. Thick socks and new boots and a hooded cardigan held together with wooden toggles. After she finishes dressing, Siggy glues a red jewel to the spot between her eyebrows. 

“The Mark of the Haiplana,” Siggy explains. “Now all Azgeda will know what you are.”

Raven doesn’t think there would have been much confusion. She walks with a limp and doesn’t have tattoos or scars. Even the way she holds herself is different than Roan’s people. One look and any of them would know that she isn’t from here. Still, she appreciates Siggy’s attempts to make her feel at home. 

“Thank you,” Raven says when Siggy deposits her outside an ornate door. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me.” 

Siggy looks incredulous. “It’s an honor.” She’s still shaking her head when she disappears down a corridor.

Raven stares after her, wondering if it really is an honor. It might be, for Dagny and Inge, but Siggy has the temperament to do more than serve a broken, foreign queen. She must want more. 

There’s little time to mull it over because the door opens and Raven finally faces her new husband. He sits at the head of a massive wooden table set with elegant china trimmed in gold, flowers and butterflies spilling across their white surfaces. It’s a strange contrast, the delicate plates and the heavily muscled man, and yet it works. There’s something undeniably regal in the way Roan holds his head and confidently meets his wife’s gaze. 

The advisors are less forgiving. Tor stares at her, his eyes slowly sliding over her body from the crown of her head to the soles of her boots. It isn’t sexual but it’s still unnerving, being exposed to that kind of scrutiny. There’s a phantom twinge in her thigh where his gaze lingers longest, and she grinds her heels into the floor to keep from flinching. 

“Mounin, haiplana. How kind of you to grace us with your presence.”

Raven gives him a bright smile, her tone saccharine sweet. “Thank you for waiting. I’m glad to know I’ll be able count on you in the future.” Tor’s face falls when she doesn’t take the bait and her smile widens, reaches all the way to her eyes. She extends her arm and after a moment’s hesitation he takes it and leads her to her chair. Point, Raven. 

Across the table, Arne, the older of the two advisors, studies her, something she thinks might be respect glinting in his eyes. He quickly ducks his head when he catches her looking, but not before she sees a hint of a smile on his grizzled face. It’s so surprising, she almost smiles in return. 

Instead, she focuses on the food, in particular, a bowl of a fluffy yellow substance and slabs of a crispy meat soaking in their own juices. The smell alone makes her mouth water. She starts to reach for her coffee but Roan catches her eye, the slight shake of his head telling her to wait. She obeys, not wanting to give Tor more ammunition. He’s grumpy enough and they haven’t even eaten.

“Oso laik mochof gon dina en hofli oso na nou laik enti,” Roan says and the others repeat his words, Raven struggling over the unfamiliar Trigedasleng. She files it away as another problem to solve – if Azgeda is to be her new home, she needs to speak its people’s language. 

Tor reaches for the bowl but Arne interrupts with a quick clearing of his throat. He looks right at Raven and speaks in English so she’ll understand. “To our new queen. May you live long and prosper.” This time, she’s sure it’s a smile curving his mouth. “Welcome to Azgeda, haiplana.”

“Thank you,” she says after an intentional pause. She appreciates Arne’s support but it’s her first day in a new place. She still wants to remind him that she’s in charge.

A servant places a plate loaded with toasted bread and samplings of the unfamiliar foods in front of Raven. Tentatively, she tries the fluffy yellow dish. It’s mixed with cheese and seasoned with salt and pepper and it’s delicious, although not nearly as divine as the meat. She actually moans when she bites into a piece, not caring that grease is sliding down her chin.

Roan watches her with that familiar amused expression. “Eggs and bacon,” he explains, leans across the table and swipes her greasy chin with his thumb. 

She almost chokes on her eggs as he sticks his thumb in his mouth and sucks off the grease. It should be disgusting but she can’t look away. He grins at her and takes a hearty bite of bacon. She rolls her eyes and rips apart her bread with more force than necessary. She can only imagine the looks on the advisors’ faces.

The rest of the meal is spent discussing preparations for the coming winter. Raven tries to focus on what Arne and Tor are saying but mostly sneaks peeks at Roan. He listens intently to his advisors and speaks with confidence, discussing grain storage with the same practiced ease as assigning guard rotations. It’s a little awe inspiring, much as it also annoys her. To be so sure of who he is and what he must do – Raven has no idea what that feels like. She isn’t sure of how to manage her body let alone figure out her place in the world.

In Arkadia, or up in space, she could retreat to her workshop, tinkering away at new projects and putting things together and even pulling them apart if it meant keeping her hands busy. There’s no such escape here, not when the Azgeda ride horses for transportation and have never seen running water. The water! And just like that, she finds a purpose.

“What do you do for water during the winter?”

The conversation stops. “What do you mean?” Roan asks. 

“You use well water, but it must freeze during the winter. What do you do then?”

“Melted snow.” Tor’s tone drips with condescension. “Ai haihefa, we have more important matters to discuss. The grain – ”

Raven crosses her arms and fixes him with a cool stare. She won’t let him bully her, not in general but especially not for this. Roan brought her here to help his people. Running water is only the first step. “Where are the blueprints for the house?” 

Tor blinks. “Blueprints?”

Raven matches his previous condescending tone. “Architectural plans. If I can find the boiler room, I might be able to get the water running.” She remembers what Roan said on the road, how he wanted all the amazing things stored in her brain. She shakes her head. “I can definitely get the water running.”

“Running water,” Arne gasps. “Think of all the time saved! Drawing water, carrying it, boiling it…” he ticks off each task on his fingers. “You’re sure you can do this?” ‘’

She nods, resolute. “I’m sure.” 

“It’s settled then.” Roan smiles, a real smile that’s all relief and joy, and in that moment he’s so handsome that Raven forgets to breathe. It’s easy to forget that underneath his cool exterior, he’s just a man. A man with hopes and dreams that she’s helping him achieve. She can’t help but smile in return.

Tor clears his throat, effectively ending the moment. Roan looks away, his expression smoothing into its usual blank mask, and Raven resists the urge to throw her empty coffee mug at Tor’s head. She’s not sure the next time she’ll see that smile.

“Ai haihefa – ” Tor starts.

Roan holds up a hand and Tor stops in mid-sentence, mouth pinched in annoyance. “Yes, the grain.” He looks to Arne. “You will provide ai houmon with what she needs.” He nods at Raven. “I will see you tonight.”

“Tonight,” she agrees, slightly dazed by the way he calls her his wife. “My husband,” she thinks to herself, silently rolling the word over her tongue. Eventually, she might even be able to say it without stumbling. 

She watches his broad back as he walks from the room, lets her eye slide to the narrow jut of his hips and the long length of his legs. Something soft and warm settles into her chest. She’ll never admit it, but that feeling – she hopes it never goes away.

 

* * *

 

As it turns out, Arne isn’t terrible company. 

He isn’t particularly conversational, but he’s eager to help and dedicated to their task. The Azgeda capital was once a university and the house was part of a museum, which explains its painstaking upkeep, but also its meticulous record keeping. Arne shows her the study, a room with plush carpeting that feels soft even under the thick soles of her boots, and wall to wall shelves of books. A warm fall sun filters through the windows, highlighting the rich red wood of the desk and the polished hardware floor. She takes a moment to admire the room’s beauty before starting her hunt for the blueprints. This isn’t her first morning on earth. She can take a moment to appreciate the world around her.

Raven finds the blueprints easily and spreads them across the desk, peers down at their fading lines. From what she can tell, a new plumbing system was added in the early 2000s, new pipes and a new boiler and even two new hot water tanks. It’s a stroke of good fortune, but she doesn’t question it. It’s not often that luck is on her side.

Arne lights a torch and she follows him to the basement, clinging tight to the smooth wooden bannister as they descend the steps. He wheezes when they come to a halt at the bottom of the long staircase. “These steps are hell on my bones.”

Raven takes a chance, stretches her braced leg. “You’re still whole. I win.”

He bows in defeat. “How did you come to lose your leg?”

She still has her leg – it’s technically attached to her hip – but Arne isn’t wrong. Her leg stopped being useful the moment that bullet shattered her spine. “I got shot.” 

“In battle?”

She thinks back to what happened at the dropship. She’d fought to save her people and lost so, so much. If that’s not a battle, she doesn’t know what is. “Something like that.”

“We are lucky to have you.” Arne looks awed and inspired and it makes Raven’s chest hurt. She’s still the girl that almost let ALIE destroy the world. She doesn’t deserve that kind of admiration. 

She clears her throat and cocks her head at the dark passageway leading towards the boiler room. “Let’s get to work.”

Arne doesn’t say much after that, although he’s quick to respond when she asks him to provide more light or hand her a makeshift screwdriver. He doesn’t complain either, even though they spend the rest of the morning examining the boiler and the afternoon inspecting pipes. She tests the five bathrooms in the house and three common bathhouses in the village. They were built from the remnants of old dormitories and while there are holes in the roof and the walls are missing some of their plaster, the foundation is sound and the pipes are intact. 

Still, there are kinks to work out. Power is an issue. Without a way to pump water to the bathrooms or boiler, all her work is pointless. She pushes aside the blueprints and paces a slow, uneven circle across the floor. 

It’s not the best plan, and the stone floor doesn’t help, but it keeps her mind off her own failings. She built an escape pod from scratch and survived a crash landing – she should be able to get the freaking water running. 

She stops for a moment and picks at the tray Dagny prepared for her, just bread and a hard cheese, but it’s better to eat alone in her quarters than without Roan. He’s still out doing kingly things and pleasant as Arne was all day, she’d had little interest in joining him or other Azgeda representatives for a meal. She pops a fig in her mouth, savors the intense sweetness. A few months ago, she’d thought nothing could be better than dried berries, but the figs – they make all other fruits taste like nutrition paste.

Her favorite part of the rooms she shares with Roan is what Siggy calls a “bay” window. Raven doesn’t know what that means, but she loves it all the same. It curves outwards from the wall, with three full glass panels that let in sunlight and moonshine and a cool night breeze. She curls into the attached bench and settles back to watch the stars.

In her head, she knows they’re just balls of hydrogen and helium, but as she watches them shine, it feels like if she reached out she could pluck one from the sky. The stars were brighter back on the Ark, without torches or campfires to mute the endless darkness, but there’s something almost magical about seeing them from the ground. 

So much light, so much energy, and suddenly she knows what to do, practices her speech while she waits for Roan to return. It’s nearly midnight when he finally opens the door. Weariness is etched into the planes of his face, but he still manages to quirk his eyebrows at her. “Well?”

It takes half a second for Raven to realize he’s talking about the plumbing and not the two of them alone in their bedroom. She climbs out of the window with as much coordination as she can muster. “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

Roan flops back on the bed and closes his eyes. “Get it over with.”

She pauses, unsure of how to proceed. He can hear her fine, but it feels weird talking to him when there’s so much space between them. She considers asking him to join her by the fire, but she saw how tired he is. It doesn’t seem right. Slowly, she pads over to bed and lies down beside him, props her cheek on an elbow and studies his face. His mouth is tight with exhaustion and there are dark circles under his eyes but he’s still handsome, especially when he looks more like a man and less like a fearsome warrior. She can’t stop staring at him.

“If you don’t say something, I’m going to fall asleep with my boots on.” 

He doesn’t open his eyes, but she still feels like she’s been caught, reluctantly tears her gaze away from his face and settles in beside him. “Without a power source, I can’t fix the plumbing.”

He sighs. “What do you need?”

She charges forward before she loses her nerve. “There are solar batteries in Arkadia.”

His eyes open, cold blue ice boring into hers. “You want to return to Arkadia.”

It’s appealing to return to Arkadia. Her life is there, her friends and the closest thing she has to family. Her memories are there. It would be easy to go back. She’d be celebrated for her sacrifice and Bellamy would give a rousing speech and she’d get free drinks at the bar. She’d know what it felt like to be Clarke. Except, it’s not what she wants. She doesn’t want to go back to what she had. She wants to keep building something new.

“I just need the batteries.”

He lets out a breath, like he’s relieved, but doesn’t comment on it. Instead he points towards the desk, his eyes a fraction of a degree warmer. “A diplomatic party leaves at dawn to finalize the treaty. Make a list and they can bring back what you need.”

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean?” 

Her voice is small when she responds. “We had tablets on the Ark. I can read and type, but I never learned to write letters. I can’t write a list for you.” A watery lump sticks in her throat. She can’t believe she got this far only to be felled by her own limitations.

The bed shifts and his hands come to rest on her shoulders. “I can write.” 

“Really?” It never occurred to her that someone would actually write Trigedasleng. It’s hard enough to speak it.

“How else would we communicate? Sign treaties? Record births and deaths and harvests?” 

She can’t see his face, but Raven can imagine his irritation, flushes at her own ignorance. Technology doesn’t make a civilization more civilized – she learned that the day they floated Nygel’s husband for his black market. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Now you do.” He squeezes her shoulders in forgiveness and Raven resists the urge to slump into his touch. He has such nice hands – she pushes away thoughts of all the things those hands could do. 

“Let’s do this,” she says, wincing at how strangled her voice sounds.

It’s a slow process, dictating names of the various parts that she needs, but it’s worth it to see those long fingers form words on a page. The paper is rough and the pen is primitive, but the letters are clear and Roan’s spelled everything correctly. She looks away when he blows sand over the drying ink to keep it from smearing, refuses to think about his breath brushing over her bare skin.

“I could teach you.” He’s leaning against the desk while she pretends to check his work, mostly to keep her eyes focused on something besides his narrow hips. 

She looks up from the document. “Teach me what?”

“To write.” He glances at the paper. “Even if you get the water running, it’s unlikely that we’ll have…” He pauses, gestures for her to fill in the missing word.

“Tablets.”

“You should learn to communicate on your own. Siggy has volunteered to teach you Trigedasleng. I can handle the rest.” 

Raven swallows hard, imagining all the other ways they can “communicate,” especially when she holds out her hand for Roan to shake and finally feels his skin against her own. She tries her best not to shudder, hopes he thinks it’s the wind coming in through the open window. 

Agreement secured, he tugs off his shirt as he makes his way to their bed. She watches his muscles flex, feels her body flush with heat. She curls up on her side of the bed but he tugs her to him and wraps her in his arms. He falls asleep almost immediately but Raven’s awake long after his breathing evens out, soft puffs of air blowing across the back of her neck. 

He didn’t say it out loud, but he gave her a choice, to return home to Arkadia or continue her life here. She slides deeper into the cradle of his arms, feels him strong and secure behind her. She’s glad she stayed.

 

* * *

 

A week passes and Raven finds herself carving out a place amongst the Azgeda.

Planning the updated plumbing takes up most of her time. The bathrooms need to be cleaned and work crews identified and of course, there’s Trigedasleng to learn. Siggy is patient but Raven struggles. It’s a new feeling – learning has always come easy to her. The grammar is different and the words are soclose and yet so different than her native English. Twice, she’s slammed closed a book and stormed from the room, gimpy leg and all, and spent the afternoon staring at a boiler just to feel something familiar. 

The afternoons are usually spent revising plans and scouring empty buildings for spare parts. She finds little of use, but Raven likes the challenge. Making something out of nothing – that’s a feeling she knows well.

On the other hand, learning to write is coming along much better than failing at Trigedasleng. It helps that Raven already knows the letters and grammar but Roan is also a good teacher. 

They sit cross-legged before the fire, a low table between them. Roan carefully scrawls each letter, explaining how the pieces fit together.

“The “G” is tricky. You make a crescent then a perpendicular line, left to right.” He hands over the pen. “Your turn.”

Her first attempt is pretty terrible, but she still doesn’t expect him to slide behind her and take her hand. “We’ll do it together.” 

Raven nods, afraid to trust her voice. The uppercase “G” has been driving her insane all day, but she doesn’t think she’d be able to write a lower case “l”, not with Roan’s voice rumbling low and gravely in her ear or those long, calloused fingers guiding her hand across the paper. 

“Well done.” She’s written the letter correctly but his hand is still tangled with hers and she can feel his heartbeat against her back. It feels faster than it should.

She turns to face him, to thank him for the lesson, but her voice dies in her throat from the look in his eyes. They’re like icy fire, dark and shadowed and alight with desire. “It’s late,” she whispers before she does something she’ll regret.

It only lasts half a second, but she sees it all the same, the look of disappointment that falls over his face. All that longing shining in his eyes – it feels like a punch to the gut. But then his expression changes, sliding into that too familiar blank mask, and he pulls away from her. 

“I’ll see you in the morning.” There’s a catch in his voice that wasn’t there before.

She doesn’t want to leave it unfinished but he’s at the door before she speaks. “Reshop,” she says to his back, surprising even herself. She never speaks Trigedasleng outside her lessons.

Roan turns, a small smile curving his mouth. “Reshop, ai houmon.”

The door closes softly but to Raven, it echoes through the room. The fire is warm and the night air is cool and her head is filled with thoughts of Roan, her _husband_ and the opportunity she let pass her by.

She falls back on the soft rug and closes her eyes, remembering Roan’s face in the firelight. Her hand trails down her body, flicks open the button holding her pants together. Her fingers slide even lower. 

She gives into the fantasy, Roan’s hands on her body and his mouth on her skin, and when she comes apart into a thousand pieces, it’s his name on her lips.

 

* * *

 

The days that follow are a little awkward, but by the end of the second week, Raven’s not sure Roan remembers that night. Still, he keeps a careful distance, doesn’t cross the table that separates them during her lessons. Not that he’d need to – he mostly reviews the sentences she scribbles and gives her pointers for improving her cursive. 

She soaks up those moments because they’re the only time she has him to herself. Arne and Tor join them for breakfast every morning and she rarely sees Roan before nine. She isn’t lonely, but she wonders what he’s doing during those missing hours. She’s used to being on her own, but they’re supposed to be running this kingdom together and that’s impossible if he’s doing all the work.

He’s later than usual one night, so late that he misses their lesson, and she tries to wait up for him but she’s asleep when he finally comes home. His broad shoulders are slumped with exhaustion and he actually braces one hand against the doorframe before continuing into the room.

“You look like crap.”

He jerks. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.” She throws back the covers and pats the bed. “Sit down.”

Warily, he sits on the edge of the bed. Gritting her teeth, Raven crawls down to sit behind him, taking a moment to find a comfortable spot on her knees. She takes a breath and tugs at his shirt. “Take this off.”

“Raven, what are you – ”

“Just trust me, okay?”

“Okay.” Something fuzzy and warm settles in her chest at how quickly he follows her instructions. It’s a little thing, a tiny thing, but it matters. Finn always hesitated when it came to her.

He doesn’t flinch so much as he shivers when he feels her hands on his skin. As expected, there’s a tight knot at the base of his neck and across the muscles of his shoulders. She digs in and gets to work.

“Where did you learn to do this?” His voice is a little breathy.

She digs her elbow into a particularly hard knot. “I wasn’t born with a bad leg. After I got shot, I had to learn to live with it. Abby taught me a thing or two about physical therapy.”

“You were shot.” The anger in his voice makes it drop even lower.

Her hands stumble a little. When she’d started down this road, she hadn’t given any thought to Roan asking questions. “There was a fight at the dropship. I was collateral damage.”

Roan turns to face her, fury written all over his face. “Trikru don’t use guns.” He lets the implication hang in the air, that it was one of her own that cost her the use of her leg. He grips her chin in his hand. “Who was it?”

She tries to look away, but his grip is firm. “Murphy,” she finally admits.

His brows crease. “The Fleimkepa?” Raven nods. Ontari’s rule didn’t last long, but Murphy still managed to weasel his way into a position of power for the wannabe heda. No one was surprised. If ALIE really had ended the world, odds were on Murphy to survive.

The crease deepens. “And yet he lives. Why?”

Raven sighs. She doesn’t have a good answer, or even a logical one. After the Grounder battle she’d opened her eyes and Murphy had just been there. No one had asked questions and the bullet in her back had kept her from speaking up. By the time she’d been lucid enough to say something, he was gone and Finn massacred a village and war was upon them and no one had time for one girl’s quest for justice.

She shrugs. There’s no changing the past and even less reason to get hung up on it. “Some of us draw the short straw.”

Roan stares at her for a long time, stares at her with those icy blue eyes. They’re warmer in the firelight, especially when he cups her face in his palms. “You are my wife. I would have ripped his head from his body.” He pauses, his thumb stroking over her cheek. “I still would.”

Her breath catches in the throat. Finn couldn’t pick up a bomb to carry out his own plan, but Roan would kill for her. It makes her want to kiss him. She wants it more than anything, his mouth on her neck and his hands on her skin and to feel him inside her. She’s woken up to the evidence every morning for a month – he won’t disappoint. She shifts unconsciously, knees splaying open slightly, and his eyes darken to an even icier shade of blue. She never knew something so cold could burn so hot. 

She almost leans in that fraction of an inch to press her mouth against his. She knows he won’t resist, can see it in the dark depths of his eyes, that he wants her as much as she wants him. She wants and she wants but she doesn’t take. Passion fades – she learned that lesson well with Finn. She’s supposed to share her life with this man. If all they have is the physical, in twenty years, what will be left?

“I should finish your massage.” She awkwardly scoots back on the bed, unsure of how she’ll react if he reaches for her. Distance is the only way to be sure.

He watches her for a long minute, searching her face for answers. She expects disappointment or anger, anything but the tenderness in his eyes. She forces a blank expression not unlike the masks he wears for his advisors. She could take disappointment or resignation, but there’s no room in her life for pity. She saw what happened to her mama – if she doesn’t keep pushing forward, there won’t be anything of her left.

“I’ve work to do.” Roan finally drops her gaze and reaches for his shirt. “Will the candlelight bother you?”

Raven frowns. “It won’t bother me, but you should get some sleep.” She remembers her ALIE experiments, the sleep deprivation followed by sensory overload. She doesn’t know which had been worse, but she firmly understands why sleep deprivation was once classified as a form of torture. Roan can’t burn the candle at both ends and expect to be productive.

“If I don’t review these promotion requests tonight, I won’t hear the end of it tomorrow.”

“You _are_ the king. They have to listen when you tell them what to do.” 

He chuckles but there’s no humor in it. “There’s a saying, power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” Raven blinks, wondering for a moment if she accidentally married Bellamy, but no, just another well-muscled man with a propensity for inspirational quotes. “I need them to fight for me because they would die for me, not because I command it.”

It’s Raven’s turn to study Roan, to search his face for what’s troubling him. “Tell me what’s going on.”

For a moment he pauses, like he’s going to tell her that it’s none of her concern, but then he remembers the woman he married and thinks better of it. “Ontari’s faction is growing.” 

She’s heard the stories about Ontari, tales of blind ambassadors and a bloody bag filled with children’s heads. The chill that slips down her spine that has nothing to do with the cold. “I thought she was dead.”

“I thought so too. Your Fleimkepa helped her escape.”

“Fucking Murphy,” Raven mutters.

Roan manages a weary smile. “Perhaps, but he gave her legitimacy. Even though she never carried the flame, there are Azgeda that believe in her natblida. She was my mother’s chosen successor.”

It takes Raven a moment to understand what he’s really saying, the threat she didn’t realize was hanging over his head. She should know better than to think the ground could ever permanently be at peace. 

“You think she’ll take your throne.”

“I know she’ll try.” 

Raven refuses to let it scare her, no matter the dread making her chest feel tight. “How many?”

“It’s only a poss – ” 

“How many?” Her voice is firmer, razorsharp in its severity. He needs to learn that she’s not a thing to be managed. 

He evenly meets her gaze. “One hundred and counting.”

She gasps. She hadn’t expected the number of defectors to be so high. But Roan doesn’t seem surprised, only resigned, like he’s seen this coming. “You knew,” she says softly. “You didn’t marry me to fix the plumbing – you wanted the Skaikru army!”

He doesn’t deny it. “I did want your army and now I need them, but I would have gotten the same deal no matter which woman I chose.” He stares down at her, his gaze heated and yet unreadable. “I wanted you.”

She looks away, knows what’s coming next. It’s meant to be a compliment but it doesn’t feel like enough, the praise he’ll heap on her engineering skills. She wants to be more than the girl that blew up a bridge or cut Mount Weather’s power. She can’t explain why, but it breaks her heart that Roan can’t see that. 

“Raven, look at me.” She startles, unable to remember the last time he said her name. She’d forgotten how good that low rumble sounds. 

It would be easy to keep studying the floor, but she knows she won’t back away from a challenge. Roan knows it too. From the moment he met her, on his knees in the mud in Arkadia, he knew she wouldn’t let him get the best of her. So she takes her time raising her head, finally meeting that icy, molten gaze. She gasps from the intensity she sees there. 

“I married you for this,” he says, voice low and ragged, dropping a soft kiss to her forehead. “I’ve heard of all you can do.” He moves lower, so his mouth presses against the skin bared by her nightgown. He presses a kiss right over her heart. “I married you for how much you care, how much you’ve given to protect the people you love.” He drops to his knees, so his mouth is level with her braced thigh. She lets out a cry when presses a kiss to the exact spot where Cage’s drill made the first cut. “I married you _for_ this, not in spite of it.” He looks up to meet her eyes, so blue in the firelight, and for a moment she thinks she’s looking all the way into his soul. “I told you that my people need to do more than survive – they need to live. Who better to teach them than you?”

She’s never been good with words. If she pushed too hard, said the wrong thing…she’s used to people leaving her. She didn’t need to give them another reason to go. And now, when she has the upper hand, when she thinks he wouldn’t leave even if she begged him to go, she doesn’t have a single thing to say. Being a disappointment is easy; she doesn’t know what to do on the other side. It’s unfamiliar territory and the weight of it steals the breath from her lungs. 

“Roan, I – ” 

“You don’t have to say anything.” He straightens and collects his papers from the desk. “It’s late and there’s work to do.”

“But – ” 

The shadows hide whatever emotion lurks in his eyes. “I just wanted you to know.”

The door shuts softly behind him Raven stares at it for a full minute, trying to process what just happened. She awkwardly collapses on the bed, presses down on her chest and tries to slow her rapidly beating heart. 

She wonders how she missed her marriage of convenience becoming something real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note on timeline: while this fic exists in a vague, AU future, I am going to attempt tying in pieces of canon. I’m all caught up now and enjoying it more – 3B is a lot more enjoyable than 3A – yet it still doesn’t quite feel like my show. But I digress...per usual, apologies for the lapse in posting. Thanks for the support! Title courtesy of Smashing Pumpkins. Enjoy.


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